


sweet like honey on the back of my tongue

by venomedveins



Series: DeSINber [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Lingerie, M/M, Smut, voyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: Spartacus watches through twitching eyelashes as Nasir backs towards the bed, grinning wide up at Agron as he strips his shirt. He’s wearing a pair of loose sweatpants, the hem dipping low enough they could be Agron’s, a swirl of ink inching over his hips and onto his back. Something hot twists in Spartacus’ gut, a fuming warning that he shouldn’t be watching this. He should cough or roll over or warn the pair that’s awake, but instead, he can’t move.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Series: DeSINber [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564696
Comments: 9
Kudos: 176





	sweet like honey on the back of my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> It's filth. Just, all filth. And probably long over due. I also kind of want to write more of this idea.

Spartacus jolts awake when the hotel door opens, a sliver of golden light from the hall spilling into the entry way. He doesn’t move though, paralyzed and slowing his breath so he can hear. The hotel is set up that his bed is technically closer to the door, but a long wall separating the main room from the bathroom blocks his view. Spartacus is on his side facing the other bed, barely cracking his eyes open to see that Agron is missing, only to hear his voice hushed behind him. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” He doesn’t sound angry and after a moment, the door clicks shut.

“I didn’t want to wait.” It’s a different voice this time, though Spartacus has to strain to hear it. “Couldn’t wait.”

“Oenomaus is going to kill you if we get caught.” Agron’s voice tampers off for a moment, replaced by the sound of rustling fabric and short, gasping breaths. Spartacus doesn’t need to see them to know that something is happening, still frozen in place. 

“Let’s not get caught then.” The other voice is breathless, louder as feet shuffle along the carpet. They step into the light let in by the curtains not being all the way shut, the parking lot obnoxiously bright in the late night. 

Spartacus watches through twitching eyelashes as Nasir backs towards the bed, grinning wide up at Agron as he strips his shirt. He’s wearing a pair of loose sweatpants, the hem dipping low enough they could be Agron’s, a swirl of ink inching over his hips and onto his back. Something hot twists in Spartacus’ gut, a fuming warning that he shouldn’t be watching this. He should cough or roll over or warn the pair that’s awake, but instead, he can’t move. 

He lays there, watching as Agron presses against him, kisses him slow and open, his large hands cradling Nasir’s upturned face. Spartacus holds his breath when Nasir lets out a soft whine, breath going high and desperate as Agron’s face disappears into his neck. He’s not careful about it, and the glint of teeth are warning before Nasir suddenly freezes, hands scrambling desperate on Agron’s back. 

“Shit!” Nasir’s voice is loud, a frantic palm sliding over his mouth to stop himself. 

Agron is kind enough to pull back, grinning even though he glances over where Spartacus is supposed to be sleeping. The light might be enough to illuminate the pair, but it throws shadows over Spartacus, so in the dimness it looks as if he’s still sleeping. Still, he doesn’t dare move as Nasir looks over too, eyes going fractionally wider. 

“You still think this is a good idea?” Agron teases, leaning in to press a smirking kiss into Nasir’s hair. 

Seeming to consider it, Nasir is slow to turn his face away from the occupied bed, slower still to reach up and thread a hand into Agron’s hair. The kiss this time is slower, the wet slide of tongues visible and audible in the still hotel room. Only the sound of the air conditioner humming across the room gives a soundtrack as the couple continue to kiss heavily. 

Spartacus’ mind is screaming at him to move. All he has to do is roll over, to grumble in his sleep, to fake waking up and it will all be over. Nasir will be bashful and apologetic, and Agron will be annoyed but understanding. And then Spartacus won’t have to deal with the fact that he’s half hard in his pajama pants, captivated by Agron’s huge palms on Nasir’s waist. 

“We have to be quiet so we don’t wake up Sparty,” Nasir grins, pulling back and walking his fingers over Agron’s chest, “But it’s tradition.”

They’re on an away game. Oenomaus had been strict about the hotel arrangements – only two players per room and no bothering the medical staff. Nasir, Mira, and Pietros had been banished a floor down, stuck in a room where none of the players were allowed to visit. They’re not wrong about Oenomaus killing them if Nasir gets caught.

It’s his other phrase that has Spartacus’ chest filling, closing his eyes for just a moment. Is this what Agron does on his nights before a game? Usually there is a party at the house, a big affair with lots of alcohol as a pregame sort of celebration. A lot of the players don’t drink, just bask in the attention and the fans, but Agron has rarely if ever attended. Instead, is this what he’s doing upstairs? 

“Mmm,” Agron seems to consider, glancing at Spartacus and then back, “True. But you know what will happen if we get caught.”

“But I wore something special.” Nasir whispers, bottom lip trembling. “Just for you.” 

Nasir retreats the half step back towards the empty bed, turning and crawling up on it. It’s a feline move, muscles rippling and legs sliding along the comforter until Nasir is comfortable, prone on his hands and knees. He tosses a sly look over his shoulder, grin turning pleased when he watches Agron palm himself through his sweats. 

“Don’t you want to see?” Nasir shifts his weight from side to side, hips swaying tantalizingly. 

“A present?” Agron raises a brow, approaching the bed. His sweats are tented obscenely, eyes trained on Nasir. 

“A good luck charm,” Nasir grins, voice barely audible. 

Trying not to move, Spartacus lets his eyes open a fraction of the way wider. It’s too late to stop them now, not with the way Agron is trailing slow, open kisses down Nasir’s spine, hands sliding teasingly over his thighs. It would be too obvious if he pretended to wake up, really considering how quiet the pair have actually been. No, Spartacus can do nothing but lay there and watch as Agron’s fingers curl in Nasir’s waistband, stripping the gray fabric slowly down his legs. 

“Fuck!” Agron hisses. His hands curl around Nasir’s hips, yanking him down the bed as Agron falls to his knees on the floor, instantly burying his face between Nasir’s spread thighs. 

From the angle he’s laying, Spartacus can’t really make out the entire thing. What he can though makes precome pearl from the tip of his flushed cock. The underwear, if they can even be called that, are more straps that actual fabric. Two of them connect the front and back, the lace in the front heavy and strained with holding Nasir's aching cock. The back is cut in a sharp triangle, a heart shape cut right about the last strap disappears between Nasir's cheeks. The entire thing is bright, cherry red. 

"Ah-Agron! No!" Nasir is on his forearms, desperately reaching back to grab at Agron's hair. 

When he surfaces, Agron's face is flushed and his chin is covered in spit. He looks half crazed, thumbs trailing over the smooth lace leading into the thong. The room smells suddenly like cherry candy, and Spartacus realizes that some of the mess on Agron’s jaw must be lube. 

"What?" He doesn't look half concerned, already turning hungry eyes back to where he was just feasting. 

"You can't!" Nasir is gasping, long hair spilling over one of his shoulders. "I can't-" He drops his head. 

"Can't what?" The tone shifts, still soft but something deep and knowing. Agron easily moves into roll of dominator, snapping the string against Nasir's ass. 

"I can't be quiet." Nasir mumbles, confesses really, pressing his cheek into the mattress. "I can't be quiet when you eat me out."

"Why?" Agron is slowly pushing him up the bed, leading Nasir towards the pillows. 

"Because," Nasir's voice is small, eyes fluttering shut, “it’s too good.”

Seemingly pleased with the answer, Agron moves up the bed behind him, hooking a hand around Nasir’s hip. He easily flips him, lays Nasir out in all his flushed glory, slowly taking his fill. Spartacus knows he needs to close his eyes now. It’s one thing to listen but it’s another to watch. And yet, his body won’t agree. Spartacus’ cock begs for relief, gaze skirting between Agron’s smirk to the way his abs flex as he watches Nasir spread his legs around his thighs. 

“Last chance, baby boy,” Agron murmurs, reaching down the front of his sweats. “You want this?” 

He palms over his cock, stroking so the fabric pushes out and then down, stripping. Spartacus has seen Agron’s cock in passing, sharing locker rooms and bathrooms sometimes, but it’s never been like this – hard and long and thick as fuck. Spartacus suddenly, vividly, can imagine what it would feel like inside of his mouth, gagging on the weight of it, alternating between sucking on the crown and sliding over to taste the slick, wet fabric over Nasir’s. 

“Please.” Nasir slides his hand between his spread thighs, palming over his cock and then further back. Clever fingers twist in the string pulled taught over his entrance and then guide it over, yanking it out of the way. 

Spartacus nearly comes from that, shocked and burning at the easy way Nasir seems to submit – dark eyes wide and begging in the dim light. Agron seems to agree as he surges forward, naked skin pressing Nasir flat to the bed and surrounding him in weighted heat. He doesn’t come up for air, instead buries his face in Nasir’s neck and shoulder. 

Biting his lip viciously, Nasir tosses his head back against the mattress and tries to keep from crying out. Spartacus can see the straining muscles in his throat, the sweat starting to pool on his brow, turning his hair curly and wild. It’s the desperate way he guides Agron’s hand to his mouth, slipping two of his fingers between Nasir’s bruised lips that does him in. 

Careful, so as not to make too much noise, Spartacus unbuttons the front of his pajama pants and lets his heavy cock slip onto the cool sheets. There are so many things wrong with this situation, and Spartacus will feel awful and guilty later, but right now – now he watches as Agron surfaces, gasping with wild as he slides into the hilt – precome drooling all over Spartacus’ fingers. 

Nasir is holding back cries, spit slipping from between Agron’s fingers as he tries not to thrash against the bed. Whatever Agron is doing, held still and tight, has Nasir frantic and coiling – one hand firmly wrapped around Agron’s wrist. It prompts him into action, easing his fingers up and slowly from between Nasir’s lips. He replaces them a moment later with is tongue – the kiss half panted breath and desperate licks, before Nasir seems to melt – groaning helplessly. 

“Good boy,” Agron whispers, a finger joining his tongue in Nasir’s mouth. “So good for me.”

“Ah-!” Nasir’s word is cut off, suckling helplessly at Agron’s offering. 

“I’m going to spoil you,” Agron grins, slipping a second finger in. As he thrusts them, his hips between to match the movement, controlled and deep, enough that Nasir slides an inch up the bed. They are lucky the beds have fabric headboards mounted to the walls. 

“Good boys get spoiled.” Agron watches Nasir’s eyes roll back, nodding. “And you’re a good boy, aren’t you baby? One of the best.”

Spartacus drags his fist over his cock in time with Agron’s thrusts, mesmerized at what is happening before him. He’s never heard that tone, never seen the control rolling off of Agron – the dominate ego that has Spartacus’ holding back gasps. He has no idea how Nasir is doing it, laying there and handling all of Agron’s attention. There is no way he isn’t brimming full of Agron’s cock, fucked on both ends as Agron’s fingers slide into his mouth again. 

Back arching, Agron buries his face into Nasir’s neck again, a grunt muffled on a particularly rough thrust. It has Nasir’s hands scrambling on his back, wrapping his legs around Agron’s waist. For as much as Agron seems to be the one in control, Nasir clings to him like he’s afraid Agron is going to stop – like this is all going to go away. He looks tiny and desperate and gorgeous, smothered under Agron’s huge chest, his hips tucked in tight. 

Spiraling closer, Spartacus rolls slightly onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of his own hand flying over his cock. It’s too much to take in at once, Agron’s back and powerful thighs, holding Nasir down and rutting into him, the sweating being smeared on his back by Nasir’s desperate fingers. Or Nasir’s dark hair spilled against the pillow, his legs shaking as they grip onto Agron’s ribs, mouth bruised red like a fruit around his fingers. He has to close his eyes against it, overwhelmed and over stimulated, only to open them and meet Nasir’s dark gaze. 

He’s turned his head to the side, letting Agron at his throat, the fingers inside of his mouth taking a break by resting on his bottom lip. Spartacus can see the flush bright on Nasir’s cheeks, the sweat on his forehead, his nose, and the way his eyes shine glassy with lust. Something sharp tugs in Spartacus’ chest though – fear dosing him in cold even as he cock twitches in his palm. 

Nasir seems to be assessing him too, can probably see the guilt in Spartacus’ eyes – the fear of being caught. Whatever he sees though, a dawning realization comes over his face, and Nasir raises a slow eyebrow at him in interest, glancing down to where Spartacus’ hand is frantically moving in the sheets. All he has to do is a say the word and all of this will be ruined. Spartacus can only imagine Agron’s fury – his rage at being watched, at being lusted after in a private moment, but when Nasir opens his mouth – he’s shocked. 

“Fuck me! Come on,” Nasir voice is shaking but louder than before, hand gripping into Agron’s hair to keep him buried in his neck, “Harder, Agron. I want it, want to feel you in me always.”

It’s a flurry then, Agron’s forearms planting into the mattress as he tucks his knees, thrusts turned jagged and sharp. If it wasn’t for his hold on Nasir, they would surely be up against the headboard by now. It’s a bruising force, the slap of skin loud and sharp in the cold room, not even the air conditioner muffling the wet slide of Agron fucked Nasir raw. 

With fingers back in his mouth, Nasir muffles cries and groans against them. His eyes are watering, big and glassy, but he doesn’t take them away from Spartacus. If anything, they stay unwavering, focusing sharp when Spartacus raises his hand to lick his palm. It feels dangerous, like a dirty secret that turns everything warm and hazy. Spartacus doesn’t know how to tell them, doesn’t know how to hint at Nasir, that it isn’t just him – Spartacus would trade places with either of them – but would prefer to be in the middle. 

Unsurprisingly, Nasir comes first. It’s not a slow build, but one second Nasir is sucking on Agron’s fingers, tracing his knuckles, and the next, they have slipped free as Nasir turns his head into Agron’s neck. His cries are muffled, desperate and high as fingernails rake down Agron’s back. They pull some welts, the skin looking hot and raw as Nasir writhes into the sheets. Agron’s hands turn soft, one soothing down his side, and his voice is muffled and soft as he soothes Nasir. 

He doesn’t slow though and neither down Spartacus, seeming to be in an unagreed to race as Spartacus strips his cock in time with Agron’s powerful thrust. It’s too much though, watching the sweat pool on Agron’s powerful thighs, the cut of his bicep looking huge and strained next to Nasir’s shoulder, Nasir’s own frantic, begging whines. Before he can stop himself, Spartacus is soiling the covers under him, robs of come sinking into the fabric – soaking it. 

Moving from his attention to Nasir’s neck, Agron raises up on his hands for added weight. His body rocks into Nasir’s, powerful and sharp, chasing pleasure now as Nasir’s hands blindly stroke his chest, massage into his abs, dip down to touch where they are joined. Nasir’s lingerie is soaked in the front, the come half spilled onto his stomach and a little on his thigh, making everything wet and tight. 

“Nasir,” Agron gasps, the s turning more into a buzz. His hair is a mess of sweaty spikes. 

Nasir doesn’t bother with words, instead reaches up, strokes over Agron’s cheek and onto his neck. He uses his feeble grip to guide him down, kissing Agron wetly as he comes. He’s not loud when he does, an aborted grunt and then every muscle in Agron’s body seems to seize. He thrusts in all the way, body poised and taught as he empties into Nasir’s shivering body, kisses slowed until Agron is more or less panting into Nasir’s wide mouth. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Nasir mumbles, collapsing back on the bed. Agron doesn’t let him get far, still peppering kisses over his face, down onto his cheeks, over his jaw and forehead. “Agron! Fuck.”

“God, you’re fucking perfect.” Agron praises, giving Nasir a slow, sweet peck, “Holy shit, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Nasir whines, turning his face once more into Agron’s neck. “Love you so much.”

Spartacus closes his eyes then, lets them have their moment. He doesn’t need to see the slow, tender kisses shared between them, the gentle caress over Nasir’s chest as Agron pulls out, falling to the side and pulling Nasir with him. He can hear them just fine, can hear the praises and soft, whispers of love shared between. He’s almost lulled by it, refusing to succumb to guilt until morning, when the sound of feet hitting the carpet stirs him. 

“I’ll be right back.” Agron is standing between the beds, still naked and covered in lube and come. It smells like cherry and sweat, the air cold and sharp now. 

He leaves Nasir with one more kiss, treading slow and quiet across the floor and into the bathroom, the light peaking out just before the door shuts. Spartacus is suddenly very away of how quiet it is, assuming Nasir has dozed off, when a thump on his bed startles him awake – eyes wide. Nasir is sprawled on his side, staring at him, the box of tissues a heavy weight now thrust into Spartacus’ stomach. 

“Enjoy yourself?” Nasir asks, raising a slow brow. There is a large, dark mark on his shoulder, the skin looking red and tender, probably from Agron’s mouth. 

“Nasir, I-“ Spartacus begins, sure he’s going to have to come up with something, when Nasir rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t apologize. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have watched. You would have told us you were awake before your best friend was fucking me. Or the very least not gotten off on it,” Nasir slowly sits up, his face flinching as he draws his feet down to the floor. “But you’re not sorry. Guilty maybe. But you liked what you saw.”

“It’s not what you think,” Spartacus begins, feeling exposed as he sits up too. The come in his underwear squelches uncomfortably. “I swear, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or anything.”

“Hm?” Nasir asks, looking perplexed.

“It wasn’t you. Or him.” Spartacus explains, helpless and a little afraid. “It was you and him.”

“Oh Sparty, Sparty, Sparty,” Nasir almost looks relieved, slowly standing. He’s still wearing the slip of red fabric, though it is soaked and sticking to his skin. “Aren’t you just a bisexual disaster?”

“I-“ Spartacus tries to think of something to say, struck dumb as Nasir walks towards him.

“It’s okay, honey.” Nasir pets a hand over his jaw, smirking wide and delicious. “You just don’t know what you want, do you? You’re always so serious. Look but don’t touch. Taste but never savor. You just need someone to show you that you can want and have.” 

“Agron would-“ Spartacus begins to shake his head, eyes going wide but Nasir just laughs. 

“Oh, he would. Agron never learned to share. Foster kid syndrome,” Nasir inches closer enough that he is almost leaning into the mattress, “As for me, well, I’m a good boy. You heard him. Who just wants to help my dear friend out.”

“Nasir,” Spartacus’ jaw drops, shocked as Nasir slowly turns around. The string is still crooked over his skin and when he bends forward, Spartacus can see his angry, slick hole – droplets of white clinging to it and making a mess of his inner thighs. 

“That’s what you wanted to see, wasn’t it? Where he was? What he did to me? What it would look like if he did it to you?” Nasir reaches down, tracing a finger over himself, smearing the lube and seed and sweat before snapping the string back in place. When he turns around, his finger is glistening. “Come on Spartacus. There is no going back now.”

Spartacus stays frozen as Nasir rubs the digit over his tongue – mouth still gaping. He can taste the salt from Agron’s seed, the sharp tang of it, mellowed by the candy flavor of the lube and then the sharpness of sweat. If he was another man, he would take more. He would grab Nasir’s hips and make him climb onto the bed with him, let him ride Spartacus’ face, let him feast and taste until he was full – only to beg for more from Agron’s own cock, but instead, he jerks back – eyes going wide as he closes his mouth with a sharp snap. 

It’s all in good timing though as the water in the bathroom shuts off and a cabinet closes. Nasir springs into action, sliding back onto his own bed and rolling onto his stomach, leaving his bare ass on display. Spartacus has half a moment to appreciate it when the bathroom door clicks open and Agron reappears, washcloth and cup of water in hand. 

“Are you asleep?” Agron whispers, setting his spoils on the end table and kisses along Nasir’s shoulder. 

“No,” Nasir nuzzles into the blanket, peaking at him over his shoulder, “but if you keep kissing me like that, I may never.”

“Oh yeah?” Agron reaches for the rag, being gentle as he eases it over Nasir’s ass, dipping between his thighs, “You think to test how deep Spartacus sleeps again?”

“Eh,” Nasir rolls over, spreading his legs for Agron with a lascivious wink, “Let him wake up. He can watch.”

“Maybe next time.” Agron groans, already moving to pull Nasir against him. “We have a game in less than six hours.”

Spartacus watches them settle, wrapped up in a blanket and looking content even though in a few hours, Nasir will have to sneak back down the hallway and into his own bedroom without being caught. Spartacus doesn’t linger on this though, he lingers on the taste still poignant on his tongue, on the way Agron’s face stills and smooths in his sleep, how easily Nasir curls up on top of him. 

It’s a constantly thought, lingering in the back of his head, turned rampant when the next day, Spartacus seems the scrap of red lace tucked into Agron’s jock right before he puts his uniform on. 

A good luck charm indeed.


End file.
